


Be Tender With Me, Baby

by thearkwrites



Series: The Ugly Bug Ball [4]
Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, M/M, a bit of angst, a pinch of drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearkwrites/pseuds/thearkwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saberhorn and Kickback learn a little about each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs a bit before the other pieces of of fiction in this series. Saberhorn and Kickback aren't quite (relatively) lovey-dovey just yet.

Saberhorn's expression went from bemusement to disgust in a sparkbeat. Kickback's morphed from delight to annoyance much faster. Between them, it was Saberhorn who vocalized his new emotion first. Two innocuous words that were uttered with venom normally reserved for the bots, objects and events that truly earned the beetle's ire. “ _Bombshell_? _Shrapnel_?” Saberhorn couldn't digest what he was saying, didn't want to digest what he was saying. “ _Really_?”

“What's wrong with them?” Kickback asked, obviously affronted.

“What's _right_ with them?” Saberhorn returned, obviously incredulous.

Thin, gray digits curled into fists. More to emphasize a point than to inflict harm. “They're good names for our bitlets!” Kickback insisted.

In the privacy of his processor, Saberhorn thought of the most polite way of saying ' _The hell they are, you adorable yet tasteless little green morsel._ ' without coming off as too condescending. “Too” being the operative word. “Pray tell, in what universe?”

Those balled servos shook with outrage. “Ours!”

Saberhorn took a fist each into his servos then clasped them together in front of the grasshopper. His optics met Kickback's in a beseeching gaze. “You're deluded, darling.” He said bluntly.

“Am not!” Kickback tore his servos from Saberhorn's grip to point at the former buccaneer with an accusatory digit. “ _You_ are!”

The discussion was rapidly turning infantile. Saberhorn desperately wanted to just turn around and walk off the increasing agitation boiling through his energon lines. Between them, it had to be he who would take on the role of the bigger bot. Kickback—bless his equal-parts-endearing, equal-parts-infuriating spark—could be forgiven his lapses into immaturity. He wasn't a gentlebot; Saberhorn was. Regardless of the delicate subject matter, to continue this conversation with a heated helm and itchy sword servo would be terribly unbecoming. Yet because of the aforementioned delicate subject matter—the names of their sparklings-to-be, no less—Saberhorn deemed it fit to give in to his normally subdued childishness. Just this once.

Thank Primus this argument was taking place in their berth room, it of the soundproofed walls and remote location within their near-labyrinthine base.

“ _How_?” Saberhorn demanded, bringing his faceplate closer to Kickback's own.

To the grasshopper's credit, he stood his ground; crossed his spindly arms in front of his chest and put on one impressive scowl. Were Saberhorn not currently consumed by his temper, he would've been proud of Kickback's rare display of audacity. Carrier protocols were an amazing thing. “You tell me! Go on and explain to me how 'Harmonia' and 'Scarabus' are supposed to be better!” He challenged.

“They flow off the glossa beautifully.” And, to further prove his point, Saberhorn said each name as though he were savoring their taste. “ 'Har- _mow_ -nee-ya'. ' _Sca_ -rah-bus'.”

Kickback wasn't the least bit impressed. “And 'Bombshell' and 'Shrapnel' don't?” He raised an optic ridge in a questioning manner.

Saberhorn let out a snort. “If you've a predilection for names that belong to the dregs of polite society the—”

Saberhorn's back met the wall with a sickening crunch. Yellow optics flew wide open as he both heard and felt his frame rattle from the impact. He collapsed to the floor, wheezing and pained all over, unable to support his battered body on his shaking arms. Saberhorn vented heavily. Slow, shallow breaths, It was all he could do as his self-repair worked furiously to mend whatever was dented and damaged inside and outside his frame.

The green mech watched Saberhorn lay there pitifully, uselessly with contempt. No self-satisfaction or righteous fury simmered behind narrowed optics. There was only pure scorn. With a sneer, Kickback retracted his legs and hopped towards the door. Very briefly, he cocked his helm and gave the fallen Saberhorn one final hateful glance. 

“ _Forget this_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Saberhorn found Kickback on the roof of the ship, resting and stargazing and looking rather melancholic. At least, from what the beetle-con could see. Confirming his assumptions by way of conversation—hopefully without any unnecessary kicking—seemed to be the most prudent course of action.

“Kickback.” Saberhorn greeted as he approached.

The green mech didn't even dignify his presence with a glance. “Douchebag.”

A crude Earth insult; Saberhorn had heard it once or twice from the Cyclone Minicons as they wheeled about the base and chittered amongst themselves. Coming from Kickback's nasally voice, it sounded almost adorable. “Charming.”

That caught Kickback's attention. “Whaddayawant, Saberhorn?” He snarled, gaze steely and antennae pricked up.

Saberhorn took that as cues to go easy on the theatrics. Now was not the time or the place. He would have to lay things out as plainly as he could. Saberhorn cleared his intake. “For you and our sparklings to return to safe embrace of—”

“Later, alright?” Kickback cut in. “Later. Just give me time to...reminisce.”

Most peculiar an answer. Saberhorn was more intrigued than he was annoyed by the other's brusqueness. “Oh? And here I was hoping you'd apologize.” He said as he sat down beside the grasshopper.

“For what?”

“Why, for nearly eviscerating me in the sanctity of our own berth room.” Saberhorn answered with a dramatic gesture and mournful pout. “I escaped that unseemly demise by the atoms of my digit-tips.”

“You deserved it.”

Exceptionally peculiar an answer. “Did I now?” Saberhorn wondered.

“Yeah. Going around and insulting Bombshell and Shrapnel like that. Disgraceful.” Kickback shook his helm to and fro, disappointed.

Saberhorn sighed. Not this again. He was beginning to regret bringing up the topic of possible sparkling names in the first place. Playful discussion and a bit of good old ribaldry were among his expectations. Bizarre, aggressive behavior from his partner-carrier were not. Still, he learned his lesson the first time around. He would have to nip this in the bud straight away. They would resume this under more amiable circumstances. “Kickback, we haven't even agreed to name our sparklings—”

Again, Kickback cut in. This time, he sounded more tired than anything else. “Who said anything about sparklings?”

“What—” Realization hit Saberhorn like a runaway spacecraft. 

“Oh.” 

It all began to fall in place. The violent reaction. The dogged insistence. The subtle conveyance of anguish.

There was more to Kickback's odd behavior than meets the eye.

Much more.

“ _Oh_.”

Guilt flashed across Saberhorn's faceplate.

Kickback's laugh rang hollow and bitter.

“ _Yeah_.”

The awkward silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity. For Saberhorn, it felt much longer. He couldn't bear it.

“Friends of yours?” Saberhorn asked, voice unusually small.

Kickback gave a noncommittal shrug without looking at him. “When they were still around, yeah.” He took a deep invent of air. “Ain't nothing like the hot end of a blaster to kill a friendship. Or two.” He said then turned his chin upwards to the night sky thousands of miles above them.

_Oh_.

“Kickback. I—I don't know what to say.”

“For once.” There was a hint of bemusement in Kickback's voice. Oddly, that was what made the pang of remorse that much more painful.

Saberhorn quietly mulled over what he said next. The timbre of his voice was as neutral as his faceplate. “Well. If it's any comfort, you've certainly a better reason than I for wanting to name our sparklings-to-be those names.”

That got Kickback to look at him. “Do I now?” He sounded genuinely curious.

Saberhorn's helm bobbed in agreement. “Your desire to name our future progeny after friends long since passed is a gesture most noble. Quite admirable, even. I daresay that my intentions were less altruistic than yours.” He held Kickback's inquisitive gaze as he continued. “Glowstrike has no need for softsparks in her army. She demands soldiers and soldiers are what you and I are going to give her. Once our sparkling or sparklings are born they're no longer ours. They're Glowstrike's. The most we'll get to do with them is to nurse them and name them.” At that Saberhorn's expression softened, a touch of genuine happiness in his wry smile to offset the heaviness of his words. “They might not remember us, but I'll certainly remember them. With names like 'Harmonia' and 'Scarabus', how could I not?”

It was Kickback's turn to look guilty. “Saberhorn I—” He swallowed. “—I never knew. I just thought that—”

“Kickback, please. For this, you need not apologize.” Saberhorn interjected airily. “If anything, _I_ should be the one making amends to you.”

“Do you now?”

“Indubitably. I am very sorry that I even brought the subject matter up. We're not even assured of just how many we'll be having. Perhaps we'll have just one sparkling, perhaps even a dozen. Who knows this early on? Not you nor I, and to believe otherwise would be presumptuous.”

Kickback furrowed his optic ridges in confusion. Saberhorn's flowery turn of phrase threw him for a loop at times. “So...what're you saying, exactly?”

“Neither of us should be worrying about nor insisting upon sparkling names. Not yet. We shall cross that bridge when we get there. Preferably, servo in servo.” Saberhorn waggled his optic ridges suggestively.

“ _Oh, Primus_.” Kickback shuddered in disgust. “You are the _worst_ , Saberhorn.”

“ _How_?” It was said more playfully this time.

“You just are, alright? Trust me on this.” Kickback waved his servo dismissively.

“You're breaking my spark, darling.” Saberhorn moaned as he took that servo and pressed it against his chest armor. “Do you feel that? It's my spark being cleaved in two.”

“Huh. Feels more like the kibble I knocked out of you.” Kickback muttered with the utmost seriousness.

A horrified gasp. “That's it. I want a divorce.” Saberhorn harrumphed with mock hurt.

“We ain't even bonded.” Kickback pointed out.

“Not yet, Kickback.” Saberhorn said what, to Kickback, sounded just like a promise. The green mech wasn't quite sure, but he found himself not caring about it too much. “Not yet.”


End file.
